Stay
by Victory Thru Tears
Summary: Hogwarts School has been said to be safe under the care of Albus Dumbledore. When this proves to be false, can the now sixth years deal with the consequences? Loyalty is a tricky, tricky thing.
1. Under Normal Circumstances

**Title**: Stay   
**Author**: Victory Thru Tears   
**Author email**: sparky027@hotmail.com   
**Rating**: PG-13 for the time being   
**Spoilers**: All 5 books. Sorry.   
**Summary**: Hogwarts School has been said to be safe under the care of Albus Dumbledore. When this proves to be false, can the now sixth years deal with the consequences? Or will old alliances get in the way of making the most of the ones that have stayed? Loyalty is a tricky, tricky thing.   
**Disclaimer**: I so don't own these characters. Also. Slash. Can't handle, don't read.   
**Distribution**: Here. And at Schnoogle. And if anyone else wants it, go ahead and ask.   
**Dedication: **THANK YOU to my betas, **Elani Chaice**, **Madam Malfoy**, and **ChaneyStarr**. Without you I would be hopelessly lost, I'm sure. Also thanks to **Regret** and **Star**, who got me into the Harry Potter fandom far before I even planned on writing it. And thank you to the Queen of Naked Teen Boys herself, **Miss Stephy**. Thank you for making me know this is alright. Even if you picked apart every. single. sentence.   
Also. A begrudging thanks to **Luscious Blonde** and **Naive Brunette Wonder**. You're a pair of snotty bastards. 

_This is for you._   
  
  


**Stay**   
by Victory Thru Tears   


_I will not weep for those dying days_

_ For all the ones who have left, there are a few that stayed_

_ And they found me here and pulled me_

_From the grass where I was laid._

- Bright Eyes   


**Prologue**

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


When he looked back on it, Harry Potter realized that the only way to describe the few days before the attack on Hogwarts was "normal." 

Normal in the way that the autumn breeze only sent small ripples over the lake when he walked by it, the giant squid lazily splashing up a tentacle or two every so often. Normal in the way Hermione nagged at him and Ron about their exams, though they were nearly seven months away. Normal in the fierce Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin, the first of the school term. Normal in the predictable victory of Gryffindor, albeit the closeness of the match. Normal in the steely glares and low rumbling curses that the win elicited from the Slytherin house as the rest of the school moved past, smiling and grinning over the pure fact that the malicious group of students had lost. 

Normal, of course, in the especially cruel stares of a certain Draco Malfoy directed towards an aforementioned Harry. The way he pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes, as if he was replaying the moment that Harry the individual – not the team of Gryffindor - had beat him, for the fifth time in his life. The way a small line passed over his delicate forehead and the nearly tormented glare turned into a cool smirk, and one could clearly see the formation of a revenge blooming in his head. 

If there was anything Harry would remember about those days before the attack, it was that look on Malfoy's face. The one that at first said that he would give nothing more than to pound Harry into the ground, and then slowly faded into a look that obviously read that before the said pounding, he would personally make sure that every ounce of pride in Harry's body was ceremoniously stripped from his twitching and writhing figure. 

The look was pure Malfoy. Harry had seen it there a countless amount of times, and it still didn't scare him. He couldn't say it didn't bother him, nor intrigue him. How could one person have so much coldness inside of their body, and still be living, walking, breathing? But it still didn't scare him. Because it had always been there. It was another part of Harry's daily routine. There was no direct threat…aside from his nasty comments and his direct connection with the right hand man of Harry's _real_ archenemy; Malfoy posed no threat to Harry. He knew he was safe within Hogwarts, especially if he kept his distance from the blond Slytherin. At that point, Malfoy was still quite low on his list of worries. 

But of course, that was still before the attack.   
  
  


**Chapter One**   
**Under Normal Circumstances**

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Harry Potter couldn't suppress the shiver that passed through him as he walked through the lonely Hogwarts grounds. It was early on Friday morning, and most people were in class. However, Harry and the rest of the Gryffindor sixth years were graced with a free block. He knew that under normal circumstances, this slot of time would be filled with his Defense Against the Dark Arts class. As was bound to happen sooner or later, Dumbledore had been unable to find a replacement for the last five teachers, let alone a proper one. So instead, Harry's schedule was marked with the words "Free Time," looking as if they were printed there with a feature of irony. He knew he had seen the twinkle, though somewhat ominous, in Dumbledore's eye at the feast on the first night as he informed them that they would not be getting a new professor this year, and that the students were to make as full of use that they possibly could with the time given to them. 

Harry had thought he had seen the hidden message in what the Headmaster had said. And so he had started the DA back up again, though with a hint of reluctance. There was something about seeing Neville, Ginny, Luna, Ron, and Hermione practice spells against each other and on inanimate objects that gave him a chill just thinking of the fact that only so long ago, they had been doing just the same on real people. That only so long ago, they, the youngest aged fourteen and the oldest sixteen, had been defending themselves against the dark arts. 

And though they came out alive, they had still failed. 

The chill running down Harry's spine was now not merely from the cold. He knew he had to block out the thought of Sirius – it would do him no good to wallow over the abrupt demise of his godfather, nor the way that he had never fully come to terms with the way he knew he had cared for Sirius more than he would, or _could_ admit. He knew that losing him had been losing his parents all over again, and no words that Ron, Hermione, Lupin, or Dumbledore said could keep him from feeling like that. 

In a selfish way, he nearly wanted to keep feeling like that. He wanted to feel the stinging loss and bitter anger at having his godfather taken away from him, he wanted to feel the need to add Bellatrix Lestrange to his list of those to kill in an effort to quench his desire to avenge the deaths of those so dear to him. He wanted to feel those things because he wanted to _feel_. He didn't want to sit still in the darkness, such as Harry Potter had done all of his life. His entire life had been a locked cupboard of emotions. Becoming a wizard had looked as if it would change that. And still, Harry was forced to grow up again. The threat of Lord Voldemort's return as early as his first year had stilled any desire inside of him to act like a child. When his second, third, fourth, and fifth year followed, Harry became aware of how tricky his emotions really were. How often did he _really_ show them? How often was he allowed to deal with them, instead of shoving them away immediately before attempting to save his life? 

No, but he wanted to let his emotions hang over Sirius. He wanted to mourn him properly. He would never be able to mourn his parents properly, because he had never known them. He had known Sirius, and he had loved him. He was more real to him than his parents would ever be, no matter how many memories or echoes he saw of them. They would always cause a bigger pang in his heart than Sirius, but he would never be able to look back on actual memories he had shared with them, like he had with Sirius. Times when they had laughed, and smiled, and cherished the other's existence. No, he wanted to mourn Sirius properly…_because_ he had never been allowed that, with his parents. He wanted to mourn him properly, and he wanted to avenge him appropriately. Then, maybe, he would learn to accept this forced blockade of his emotions. 

So if he wanted to avenge this man so badly, why was he not away practicing with his now larger group of followers, still under the now massively ironic name of Dumbledore's Army? 

The answer was simple, though it nearly tore Harry apart because it was so infuriatingly confusing. 

It was that nothing had happened. 

The beginning of Harry's sixteenth year had been marked with another uneventful summer, much like that of the previous year. This time he was much more tolerant of his Dursley relatives, and nearly enjoyed the guarded look Aunt Petunia gave him every time she thought he wasn't looking. It was the closest Harry had ever gotten to receiving any kind of affection from her, and yet he had been getting the same look for years. Here he was, all along thinking that it was just another way of her scorning him and scowling over his ruffled appearance. But now that he knew the truth about his requirement to return to the Dursley's every year, he could see that it was something else. Underneath her thin and stereotypical Muggle exterior, the woman did care for him. In a twisted way that Harry would liken to the way an animal cared for the insect upon its back, but still in a way that made it a little more bearable to be in the house on Privet Drive. 

He had been invited away to the Burrow a few days after his birthday, a period of time long enough for Harry to possibly consider his stay at the Dursley's the duration that a person would spend at "home." He had accepted the invitation gladly, eager to be rid of the silence from the magical world, which this year seemed more ominous as opposed to infuriating. 

But when he arrived at the Weasley home, he was dumbfounded to learn that there was no new information. Fudge had admitted to the reappearance of the Dark Lord, causing quite a stir in the Wizarding world. But when nothing had happened over the summer, no strange disappearances, Muggle killings, or even more rumored sightings…people began to wonder, again. In the past few months, the press was starting to bring this to a bit more attention. Harry wondered how a newspaper that seemed so Ministry-controlled as the _Daily Prophet_ could get away with articles that bordered on calling both Dumbledore and Fudge frauds. The negative media attention on Harry was beginning to surface again, though this time cleverly masked by sickeningly sweet quotes on the Boy Who Lived, which only seemed to mock him from the black and white print as he restlessly read the newspaper every morning with the Weasleys. 

The return to Hogwarts came and went. Nothing. Harry didn't know what he was expecting, fireworks and a welcome home banner courtesy of Voldemort? Surely not. 

But still. He knew there had to be something. The Dark Lord had gone through the last sixteen years taking every opportunity he had to try and kill Harry. Nearly five months, when he was already back to his normal – not that Voldemort's form was really "normal" under Harry's standards – form, and there had been nothing? Only the occasional twinge of his scar, faint enough for Harry to sometimes even wonder if he had imagined it, or if it was just his hair tickling his forehead. There had been no dreams, nothing that left Harry shivering in the morning, wondering if he had just been possessed by what had been called the most powerful Dark wizard of all times. 

The only times there had been a stillness like this was when Voldemort was planning. And it was _that_ that made him restless. And so he walked around alone, while the rest of the school was at ease, secretly hoping in the back of their minds that it was all a fluke, and that Harry, Dumbledore, and now even Fudge had all been wrong. Harry could see the way that even those like Hermione and Ron, who had _seen_ the Death Eaters in the Ministry that night, had _battled_ them…he could see the way that they were beginning to relax. Beginning to let down the walls that had been building rapidly ever since Voldemort's possession of Professor Quirrell their first year. 

Harry knew that was the first step that Voldemort was looking for, that admission of trust to their surroundings. It almost chilled him that he was so sure of this thought, but rather than try and tell himself it was because he was somehow connected to Voldemort through a prophecy perceived a countless amount of years before his birth, he told himself it was pure logic. Anybody that was plotting to kill a mass amount of people along with the only few people that could defeat him would wait until those people were completely comfortable with everything around them. Which is why Harry wasn't lazing around his common room in the time they should have been having their DA practice, called off on account of sheer laziness from the rest of the people involved, and their secret belief that no harm was going to come to them. It was why Harry was instead nearly stalking around the grounds of the school, glancing furtively over his shoulder every few moments. 

_Constant vigilance_. He muttered into his head darkly, lifting one hand to adjust the glasses on the bridge of his nose. If there was one thing Harry had noticed about his return to Hogwarts, it wasn't the few extra inches of height he had gained over the summer. No, he left the noticing of that to the first years that whispered excitedly as he passed in the hallway. Instead, Harry took note of the paranoia with which he looked around himself. He became aware of the way his ears perked up at every small sound whenever he was alone, and the instinct in his gut to grab his wand immediately. It had become clear to him that he had grown into a paranoid boy, who instead of worrying about attackers, should have been worrying about the relationship with Cho that had failed so miserably last year. 

The thought of that little escapade nearly made him laugh, now. How could he have been so stupid? Not to have kissed her, nor made an ass of himself in that teashop in Hogsmeade…but why had he invested so much thought into such petty little things? Harry Potter had no time to love. Loving anyone was dangerous. His parents, Sirius…that had proved it enough. 

In addition to becoming paranoid, he was also becoming colder. He could feel it. It was oh so simple in the way he, Ron, and Hermione didn't tell each other everything anymore. How he could now so easily turn down their company to spend time in seclusion. He had even paired himself with Seamus a few times in Charms this term, in an effort to keep himself and Ron apart. 

It was gut wrenching to Harry to see them beginning to also realize this change in him. Ron's subtly hurt glances every time Harry told him he had other plans, Hermione's raised eyebrows whenever he sat a few seats down from them at meals. But Harry could get over the guilt. It was only another emotion in the way. 

He couldn't love them. He already cared for them enough, and he knew the precarious position it put them in. 

To be loved by Harry Potter was nearly sending the Dark Mark up above your own head. 

So he distanced himself from them, and nearly everyone else at the school. Sometimes he heard people whispering, wondering about the steely hero that was the dark haired Gryffindor. They would never guess that by estranging himself from them, he was saving them all. 

The cold air bit into him as he walked through the grounds. He faintly noticed that this was the farthest he had ever come from the school, while still staying within sight of it. He noted, not for the first time, that he still didn't know exactly where Hogwarts was in England. He knew that it was quite a journey from London, and that it was a good deal north. Perhaps somewhere in Scotland, even. Hermione had often said that the scenery looked like what Scotland was described as in geography books, and Harry had learned that Hermione was usually correct about such things. 

It hadn't been that early when he had left the school. It was well past breakfast, and most students had already been in their first classes. Hermione and Ron had proposed a tournament of Exploding Snap, but Harry had still been a bit sore over the nearly unanimous canceling of their DA session. So naturally, he'd refused, and instead come here, outside, to walk off any anger – _emotion_ – that he was feeling. 

Maybe it had helped. Because the cold air was calming him. The breeze around him was strong, and yet soothing. It reminded him almost of flying. It made him want to keep walking, and not think of a thing so ridiculous as turning around and heading back towards the school. For the last six years, Harry had wanted nothing more than to be a part of the Wizarding world as much as possible. But right now, at this moment, he was more content in being merely a piece of the scenery around him, an extension of nature. There were many times he had been completely at peace with the idea of falling off the face of the earth…and he had to admit, at none of those other times did he feel as calm as this. 

He raised his hand to his forehead in the light of the nearly dazzlingly grey, cloudy sky, looking over the scenery before him. The Hogwarts grounds extended for a while longer yet, before the grass and ground met the lake. He surveyed the area in front of him, and decided that there was time left in the morning. 

Harry let out the least audible of sighs and continued walking. 

*** 

Though Draco Malfoy had always been brilliant, no genius inside of him could save him from the pit of boredom that was History of Magic. Whether it was his Hufflepuff classmates – this had to be the only class where he had the chance to look at tantalizing people, but no one to look _at_ – snoring on their desks, Professor Binns droning on as if he didn't even realize that not a person was listening to him, or it was the actual _material_ of the class, which was drab enough to make even Draco forget about beating Granger as top of their class…well, the class had absolutely no perks. 

_He_ was only glad he had been the lucky one to be seated next to the window. At least instead of being forced to stare into the nearly drooling face of a sleeping Justin Finch-Fletchley, he was allowed to look outside. 

_Not that it was all that interesting_, he decided. At the Malfoy Manor, there were gardens that stretched on for miles, continuously in bloom throughout the year. And at Malfoy Manor, there were_ two_ Quidditch pitches, both much nicer than the ones here at Hogwarts. The food was better, too…not to mention that there wasn't a bleeding dark forest about ten feet from the front door. 

And yet, Draco noticed as he shifted his position slightly, there was no way he would trade being at Hogwarts for being at home. 

Not that he would ever be given the chance for anything different. His parents were too busy to be expected to deal with a task as trivial as their only child – they were too busy preparing for a war. 

_Yes_, Draco thought bitterly, _them and the rest of the world_. 

It wasn't a strange thought. Because, of course, it was true. The Dark Lord was back to power, and those who weren't preparing to fight him, were preparing to fight with him. It was expected. What else would you do in such trying times? 

Draco hadn't thought there had been any other choices, until he found that he himself had made one. He wasn't standing straight-backed at his parents' sides, aiding them in any way possible to bring the downfall of Dumbledore, his little band of followers, and most of all Harry Potter. And yet he wasn't abetting the latter three by confirming their suspicions of Lucius Malfoy, no matter how obvious they already were. He wasn't going out of his way to be nice to anyone here at Hogwarts, at all. But that was normal. 

Instead of doing any of these things, Draco was being his malicious self with a hint of sulk to it. The pouting was so faint that no one noticed it but himself, and its presence made him angry. The truth was, Draco Malfoy hated change. Frankly, it angered him. Even sometimes scared him. To see his mother, who was usually doting on him, suddenly rigid and colder than usual, answering quickly to everything his father asked of her. And his father was now too busy to pay any attention to him, not even for some criticism. Draco had never known another time in his life when his father was too busy to criticize him. 

When he'd come back to Hogwarts, he had hoped terribly for some kind of the same stability he had found there in previous years. Of course all Educational Decrees had been lifted, which disappointed him a bit…but it also effectively turned things back to normal. Potter began playing Quidditch again, which at one point Draco had actually worried about not happening. He had to admit that Quidditch was not half the fun if he didn't have Potter to beat. 

Then again, that's what he realized half the fun in everything was. Last year had been a delicious treat, mind you, being able to hold nearly everything possible far above Potter's head. He adored the sight of seeing the Boy Who Lived squirm, and the feeling of triumph that bubbled inside of him every time. 

But he had to admit, it didn't compare to the feeling of competition that came up inside of him every time Potter was as fully prepared as he. When there was no one holding either of them back, and they were perfectly matched. There was something satisfying about beating him then…or even being beaten by him then. 

He didn't, by any means, like Potter. But he could appreciate the stability that hating him offered. He had been left a lot of time to think about this during the summer, while Malfoy Manor remained almost chillingly silent. He knew that this silence was in large part due to his father's secret aid of the Dark Lord. Or, not so secret, since Lucius Malfoy was almost as infamous within the Wizarding world as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named himself. Though, Draco had to wonder just how much of the things said about his father were merely assumed. After all, if his own son had only the smattering of a notion of the doings of his family, how could the entire Wizarding population of England? 

Draco knew his father was a Death Eater. He had grown up knowing the symbol on his father's arm as well as the Malfoy family emblem. In his early years, he had even gotten the two mixed up. But he had quickly gotten that problem fixed. Malfoys had no room for stupid mistakes. Even his father's brief spell in Azkaban at the beginning of the summer had been quickly remedied, though Draco still wasn't sure how he had managed it. But through the years, Draco had been forced to adopt the metaphorical family shroud of secrecy, and pull it over his own head. 

But in recent years, he noticed something. Instead of taking great care to protect his family and their secrets from the outside world, he was taking great care to try and avoid them all together. He had not the faintest clue of any action going on within the highest ranks of the Dark Lord's followers, because he had no desire to ask. He knew that Lucius knew, and vice versa. But his father had no qualms with this. As high as his expectations were for his son, Draco knew that his father would never see him as anything but an incompetent boy who had never even been able to defeat Harry Potter at Quidditch. This was not the person he would trust with his Master's secrets. 

In truth, it probably wouldn't have mattered to him whether or not his father did trust him. Draco had a secret far more important to him than anything his father or the Dark Lord could ever tell him. And that secret was that he was a coward. 

He was deathly afraid of the goings on around him. Not because he was going to be in any type of danger (though that did come along with it), but because he was going to be forced to choose, and to change. Hogwarts was the only place where things were normal now, but he only had two years left. And then he would emerge into the world, where he would be either scooped up into open arms by the Malfoy family, or shunned if he turned towards Dumbledore. And he didn't want to make this choice. He didn't want to betray anybody, though he knew that he had no particular loyalties to anyone besides his family. The problem was, that Draco could not see himself killing anybody. And that was what this whole crusade of the Dark Lord's was, wasn't it? As cruel as Draco could be to Mudbloods like Granger, he still did not think he would ever be able to pick up his wand and kill anybody. This was his secret…his cowardice, hidden cleverly beneath a pallid and cold exterior. 

It was so much easier to Draco just to stay the way he was. All bark, no bite. Malicious if it was certain that he could, and would, have the upper hand. But popular to contrary belief, he had never been a part of his father's Dark Arts. And as a result, he was terrified of having to choose them, instead of this life of neutrality that he had set up for himself thus far. 

He had never had experience with a real Dark Wizard, and especially not with Dark magic. He had no idea what they were like, or what they could do. So how was it that he was accused of being one? He was only another nearly sixteen-year-old boy at Hogwarts. He was no stronger than any of them, except maybe that bloody idiot Longbottom. People loved to dwell on the fact that all Dark Wizards that had come from Hogwarts were in Slytherin. Draco had a few comments for them. He would like to remind them that not all Slytherins had become Dark Wizards; it was not a tit for tat deal. 

If his father had heard him talking about this, Draco would have gotten it for sure, unknowing and incompetent or not. No one knew that the Malfoy boy was this unsure of himself…damnit no one knew him. And as conflicting as his feelings were, Draco had no intention of doing anything about them. He did not intend on choosing a side. He did not intend on doing anything except graduating Hogwarts at the top of his class, and getting a job in the Ministry just as he had always planned to. 

And so Draco sat in his desk table in History of Magic, staring out of the window and wishing that the war did not exist. 

He let his eyes fall away from the window, and inwardly marveled at the fact that the fire was roaring inside of the castle room, despite the fact that it was still early morning and not quite cold enough to require heat. He could only chalk it up to Professor Binns' obliviousness to his surroundings. 

The window seemed to call for more attention and again he turned his head to look outside. He could see most of the grounds from where he was…the Quidditch pitch, the greenhouses, even a corner of the lake. And of course, that damn forest. Filled with all sorts of things that Draco did not care to think of this early in the morning. 

He dropped the still unused quill in his fingers to raise his hand to his mouth, carefully covering a yawn that happened to let itself out. He glanced around to see if anyone had seen him make this small action, and was relieved to see that no one had. He didn't know why he was so concerned – it was quite an ordinary thing to yawn in History of Magic. But he had an image to uphold, of course. Draco Malfoy could not be found doing something so ungraceful as yawning during class. 

He let his pale hand fall to the desk again, quickly gripping his quill to at least appear as if he was taking notes. He found that he needed a bit of ink, and quickly reached to dip his quill into the bottle. 

His silver-blond eyebrows knitted together as he felt the slow vibration of the table. His inkbottle was shaking in front of him, though so slightly that no one else in the room seemed to notice. Draco lifted his head and looked around, his eyes moving to the framed pictures of famous goblins on the walls, which were now slowly starting to tremble. 

Heads began lifting from the desks as more people began to notice the rumbling that seemed to be now shaking the castle. Even Professor Binns stopped, though it may only have been caused by surprise at the fact that his class appeared to be waking up. 

Draco sat still in his seat, as the rumbling vibration slowly grew louder. The girls in the room began to shriek as it neared a fever pitch. Chairs began scraping back from desks as everyone stood, clinging to each other as they quickly ran for the door. 

The rumbling noise resembled that of a train as Draco stayed still in his spot, as though rooted there. He flinched along with the screams as there was a loud bang, as if all of the doors inside of Hogwarts had slammed open at the same instant. 

And as it appeared, they had. 

For in the doorway, stood three figures hooded in black robes. Their hands gripping wands pointed out towards the children and a Professor Binns that finally looked awake and conscious of his situation, it was obvious to Draco who they were, and what they were there for. 

The Death Eaters had come to the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.   



	2. Chaos Unfolds

**Author Notes:** Thank you to Elani Chaice and ChaneyStarr for betaing. And we all know that Star wants a big shout out because A. Today, July 29, is her birthday...and B. She made me sit down and finish this chapter. Snarky!Draco on the way for you, dear. 

Also to Stephanie, without whom I would be merely a splat on the road of life. Chapter three will not be up for a little while, because I am going to be visiting her for a wholesome nine days. YessireeBob!

_Enjoy, LB and NBW._

**Stay**  
By Victory Thru Tears

_I will not weep for those dying days_

For all the ones who have left, there are a few that stayed

And they found me here and pulled me 

From the grass where I was laid. 

- Bright Eyes 

** Chapter Two   
Chaos Unfolds**

"_Stupefy!_"

The spells started almost immediately. Draco, along with more than half of the class, swiftly ducked. Right before he slammed to the ground under his desk, he was sure to grab his wand from the inside of his robes. 

The three Death Eaters had swooped inside of the classroom and were now pointing their wands at any children in sight. Draco stared in horror as he saw the look of painful terror on Susan Bones' face as she hit the ground, clutching her chest. His head swiveled the other way, and a shock ran through his body as he caught sight of Professor Binns. The ghost was floating frozen in midair, the look of fear on his face close to that on Susan's. Draco swallowed harshly, his throat dry. He'd never seen a ghost look like that, except for when Nearly Headless Nick was petrified their second year…and this could hardly be the same thing. The Gryffindor ghost hadn't looked half as terrified as the Professor did… 

_ You've got to get out of here…_

He was in perfect agreement with the voice in his head. Launching himself out from under his desk, he made sure to hold his wand out in front of him as he ran from the room. 

He looked over his shoulder as he made it through the door, something in him telling him that was way too simple. But as the body of Ernie Macmillan flew across the room, hitting the wall next to the window, Draco spun on his heel and fled down the hallway. 

He finally felt the chilling knot of worry set in his stomach as he paused at a flight of stairs, looking around him at all of the students also fleeing from classrooms. He could hear the loud voices of the Death Eaters shouting spells and hexes, and the terrified screams of girls and boys alike. Draco could feel a panic rising inside of him even stronger than any he had felt before. They were really under attack…he really wasn't safe… 

He gasped and pushed himself up against the stone railing of the staircase as a group of screaming girls passed him. One glance over his shoulder told him that the Death Eaters were not being picky - they had just stormed the bathroom, as well. Frantically, he tried to ignore the sobbing screams and shouts of terror - many of which were cut short - to try and work out what it was he could possibly do. 

But he had no choice except to whip around when he heard the familiar voice of Hannah Abbott. By some chance, she had also managed to make it out of the History of Magic classroom. She had run down the hall, but was being pursued by all three of the Death Eaters. Briefly he wondered why they were all running after her, and could only come to the sick conclusion that there was no one else left in the room… 

He watched from his place by the stairs as they cornered her. Tears were running down her face and she quickly shook her blond-pigtailed head, as they grew closer to her. 

"Please…no…" The Death Eaters laughed at her plea, and Draco watched with a mouth growing more and more dry every second as the one in the middle raised his wand. With one slashing motion, he sent a streak that looked like a purple flame, straight to the Hufflepuff's chest. Draco watched as her expression quietly contorted, and she fell to the floor. 

He stood rooted to the spot, his eyes widening with growing horror as he realized that any moment they would turn around, would _see him there_, would… 

He didn't stay to think about what they would do after that. Instead he turned as fast as he could from the scene he had just witnessed, and ran down the stairs. 

_ Coward…Coward…_ The voice in his head was incessant, pushing the word at him every time one of his footsteps came in contact with the floor below him. _You just stood there and watched as they did that to her…you could have saved her…_

_ What could I have done?_ Draco shot back desperately as he continued to run. People came at him from all sides, yelling and crying, and frantically trying to get to a place where they could be safe. 

_ You could have saved her._ The voice was silent after repeating this, and Draco felt, besides just the panic inside of him, a guilt start to build in the pit of his abdomen. Though his destination was still unknown to him, he quickened his pace. His wand was still clutched in his hand, and he was briefly aware of the hair that was flying in his face. But still he moved on. 

He was forced to come to a stop, however, when he crashed into a tall figure. He let out a strangled yell that he could not have imagined as coming from his mouth when he realized that it was a Death Eater. The tall robed figure held his wand out towards him, and Draco braced himself for the imminent attack. 

But instead, the Death Eater slowly brought his arm in towards him again, curling his wand-laden hand around his body. Draco watched in unmasked shock as the Death Eater bent his back to him, inclining his head the smallest bit. 

"Mr. Malfoy…" A voice rumbled at him, hidden by the hood of the man's cloak. 

And suddenly Draco understood. His silver-grey eyes widened, and he once again fled, this time even faster than before. 

That was the answer…that was why he had been able to get away with running around the castle, completely unharmed during the chaos. It was the answer as to why he had gotten out of the History of Magic classroom while everyone else inside had been hexed, stunned, or…even worse. And it was also the answer to why, if Draco had decided to stay after seeing Hannah Abbott…hurt, he probably would have remained unscathed. It was because he was a Malfoy, the son of one of the most infamous Death Eaters that had been a part of the Wizarding world. He was the son of a man that was probably running around here right now, doing things to people as he had seen done to the blond Hufflepuff that had he had made fun of for the past six years. 

Draco stopped running and looked around frantically, seeming so much more _aware_ than he had been only a few moments ago. He felt dizzy, as if the ground was spinning very rapidly beneath him. It was an odd sensation, and for one brief instant it seemed to him almost as if the blood in his veins was rebelling against him. 

Draco put his hands around his middle, turning away from the railing of the stairs. He let his knees buckle underneath him as he fell to the ground, and clutched his stomach as he emptied himself of his last meal. 

He stayed kneeling on the ground, trying to take in heaving breaths. His head was still spinning, seemingly out of control. But slowly, he put his palm flat out on the ground, leaning his weight on his arm as he pulled himself up from the floor. He took a moment to gather his bearings as he stood straight and once more watched the chaos unfolding around him. 

And without a second thought, he let his feet take him once more away from his place on the staircase. But this time, he had his purpose. He knew where he was going. Not what he was going to do there, but where he was going. 

***

Harry leaned his head back against his hands and gazed serenely at the sky. The grass was cool beneath him and he could faintly feel the effects of the morning dew seeping through his robes. Instead of shrinking away from the cold feeling, he spread himself out even more, allowing the breeze to float over him. 

He turned his head to the side, allowing himself to look at the lake. It was perfectly still now, not even the breeze was disturbing it. The squid, which had just been nearly waving at Harry, had plunged under again. It seemed as if even the birds had gone silent. 

Harry supposed that this should have had an ominous connotation to it, but he could find nothing except peace where he was right now. After all, he didn't _want_ to be like Mad Eye Moody, and find something ill omened in everything. Why, he couldn't have felt safer now even if Dumbledore himself were - 

He sat up straight as he heard the large bang. It sounded like a Muggle gunshot, but Harry knew after five years of Hermione that there was no way it could have been that. 

He jumped up from where he had been sitting by the lake and turned around to stare at the castle. Hogwarts seemed normal, just as he had left it. And yet… 

His paranoid instincts were now completely alert. The lake was _too_ still, and the air was _too_ silent. Something was happening in Hogwarts and he knew it. 

Grabbing his wand from the inside of his robes, he took off as fast as he could towards the school. 

***

The Great Hall was even worse than the rest of the school when Draco entered. It didn't take him more than a few seconds to realize that this was where the Death Eaters were congregating…maybe because this was where the teachers and students seemed to be coming as well. He watched the teachers in awe for a few moments as they battled the Death Eaters, finally appreciating the knowledge and power that his professors actually did possess. 

He heard a strangled cry behind him and whipped around to see Ron Weasley locked in battle with a Death Eater. His eyes widened, and he quickly moved aside as the two came charging past him. 

_ The Weasel…_He thought to himself in shock. He looked down at his own wand, which he hadn't even lifted from his side. _The Weasel can summon up more courage than I can._ Behind him, Draco heard the front doors burst open. Along with a few others, he gasped and whirled around to see what could have come now. But instead of seeing something horrendous coming to destroy the school, he saw Potter. 

Potter, with a terrified look on his face, as if this was the first time he was seeing anything of this mess. He stared in terrible astonishment at the Death Eaters battling with anyone who dared to try. 

He didn't appear to be paying any attention to the hooded figure that swooped down close to him. It was only when the Death Eater's wand was out and pointing at him that he gave any indication that he saw them. Draco watched as he gasped, immediately raising his wand to shield himself. But Potter wasn't quick enough - the Death Eater, within a few seconds, had shouted "_Expelliarmus!_" and sent the wand at least ten feet away from the dark haired boy. 

Draco felt a large surge of rage flow through him. _This_ was their miracle boy, a cowering mess in the corner, trying terribly hard to look fearless but doing a mess of a job at it. He heard a cruel, tinkling laugh come from under the hood, and something inside of him snapped. He wasn't going to let Potter become the Boy Who Gave Up, not _this far_ in the game. 

He shot forward, his wand raised defiantly in front of him. 

***

Harry felt all the blood draining from his body as he swung the doors of the Great Hall open, and surveyed the scene before him. He watched Death Eaters battling _students_, and the teachers desperately trying to make sense of it all. The nausea inside of him was rising and he was surprised that he wasn't being sick all over the floor in front of him. 

There was Ron. He was being chased by one of the robed figures, but was heatedly throwing curses over his shoulder. And there was Neville! Harry watched as he stood up straight, squaring the shoulders of his still rather round frame, and shouting a stunning spell at one of the Death Eaters. But no sooner had he done so when the spell bounced off the man in front of him and hit Neville in the chest. Harry felt his stomach sinking and quickly looked back down at the wand in his hand. 

_ You have to do something!_ His head shouted at him. He straightened his back, jutting his chin out as he prepared to follow his peers and professors into battle. 

"Well, well, _well_, Mr. Potter…" His head snapped up towards the hooded figure in front of him, the voice sickeningly familiar. "Fancy finding you waltzing in so late. Forget something?" 

Harry gasped, throwing his arms out in front of him at the person who was undoubtedly Bellatrix Lestrange. His tongue caught in his throat as he pointed his wand at her, trying frenziedly to make a spell - _any_ spell - come out of his mouth. 

"_Expelliarmus!_"

He watched in dismay as his wand flew out of his hand, landing a good distance away from him. He knew there was no way he would be able to get to it, especially not before the witch in front of him could...well... 

Harry felt a stone forming in the bottom of his stomach. This was...the first time he had been against a Dark Wizard, without even his wand. No quick trickery could save him now, not even a simple shield spell. For the first time, he was cornered, and he knew it. 

He chanced a look over her shoulder, too see if anyone had seen him, and was now going to save him. But of course, everyone was trying to fend for their own lives. This was exactly the type of thing Voldemort would have hoped for, for Harry, and he knew it. He had just walked into this, for once completely unprepared. 

He heard her let out a high-pitched laugh, and he locked his eyes upon her as she lifted her arm up. Harry crinkled his eyebrows together, jutting his chin out even as his entire body and mind screamed at him to run. But he knew he wouldn't be fast enough, and he wouldn't escape the spell. If someone was going to finally kill him, he was going to stay and take it. He was not going to run. 

He braced himself as Bellatrix Lestrange aimed her wand at him, taking a breath to yell the words that he knew he would hear right before the end. 

"_Avada Kedavra!_" Harry's eyes, which had closed on instinct, sprung open at the sound of an all-too-familiar voice. The green flash of light he had been expecting stung his eyes, causing him to lift an arm in front of his face to shield himself. But by even this small action, he knew that something very different had taken place. 

The woman who had been responsible for the death of his godfather was now lying in front of him. Her mask had fallen off, leaving her heavy-lidded eyes wide with shock, her mouth opened to utter the spell that had killed her. Harry tore his gaze away from her, aware that he had now witnessed more deaths than he would care to think about in his life. But... 

He lifted his head sharply, remembering the voice he had heard right before watching Bellatrix Lestrange fall to the floor. And sure enough, standing a few feet away from the Death Eater, looking out of breath and even paler than normal, stood Draco Malfoy. 

Harry's eyes met with the Slytherin's, and for a fleeting instant he swore that he could see bright, unabashed fear in the grey spheres. But as soon as he saw it, it was gone. Instead, Malfoy scowled at him, letting out a loud, hissing yell. 

"Potter, your _wand_!" He motioned to the forgotten object a few feet away from Harry. Harry turned to look at it, lunging to grab it before another Death Eater could notice their small gathering by the doors of the Great Hall. When he looked up again, Malfoy was gone, running across the Great Hall. Harry stared after him, the understanding still not quite registered within him. 

_ Did he just save my life? _

The thought flew from Harry's mind as he felt a hand grab him. He wheeled around with his wand clutched defiantly, his mind suddenly pulled back to the battle that he was in the midst of. But he found that he was face-to-face with Hermione, and quickly let his arm fall to his side. She was breathing heavily, and he took the few moments of her silence to look her over with unmasked concern. Her hair was sticking up everywhere, and her robes were hanging loosely over her shoulder. Harry took a closer look, and saw that they were ripped at the right side of her collar, nearly all the way down her sleeve. Where the material fell away, he saw a bright crimson cut, which she clutched with her free hand. 

"Hermione!" He choked out, just as she fought to get out his name. Her eyes met his and followed his gaze to her shoulder. She quickly shook her head, staring at him with eyes he had never seen so pleading. 

"Harry, there's no time..." She said urgently. "We have to get up there!" 

"Get up where?" His voice sounded coarse and foreign to him. He shook his head the slightest bit, trying to clear it. But as he had learned many times in the past, clearing his head of thoughts he did not want in there was more difficult than he cared to admit. 

Hermione motioned towards the center of the Great Hall, closer to the staff table. At first it was hard for Harry to realize what she was pointing to, but soon he saw the teachers and students trying to assemble together under the steps. Their task was proving to be quite difficult due to all of the Death Eaters trying to stop them, but they still fought to stay together, under the slightly harried direction of the professors. 

Hermione was almost shaking at his elbow. He turned to look at her, giving her a firm nod before grabbing her good arm and pulling her in the direction of the staff table. He was sure that he saw a look of relief pass over Professor McGonagall's face as soon as she caught sight of them, and did not hesitate in continuing to pull Hermione forward as she motioned for them to come closer. 

"You must get in the circle!" Professor McGonagall called at them. Harry wrinkled his eyebrows together, but quickly obeyed. He let go of Hermione, who quickly took her wand in her good hand, and followed him into the small bunch of students and teachers. Looking around at them, he saw that most of them had their wands pointed towards the ceiling, even as the Death Eaters continued to try and attack them. 

"Only a few more!" Harry looked over as he heard the voice of Professor Sprout. She was staring over him at Professor McGonagall, who nodded once before surveying the scene before her with a stress Harry knew he had never seen in her before. 

"Draco!" Harry turned his neck so fast to where Professor Snape shouted that he nearly fell off the step he was precariously perched upon. His eyes landed on Malfoy, who was locked in battle with another Death Eater. Harry noticed, however, that Malfoy simply seemed to be putting shielding spells on himself, and occasionally trying to fling the disarming spell at the robed figure chasing him. He was showing none of the ruthlessness that he normally possessed, even when he had saved Harry earlier... 

The Death Eater called out a loud spell, the words of which Harry did not make out clearly. The spell, however, sent Malfoy flying back at least five feet, where only the stone steps leading to the staff table stopped him. A gasp went through the students, but it was quieted when the pale boy rose to his feet, though quite shakily. 

"Come here, Draco!" Snape called again, and Harry was more than a little surprised at the outright urgency in the dark haired man's voice. He watched as the blonde winced quite noticeably, rushing towards them even as the Death Eater geared for another spell against him. 

"Wands to the ceiling!" Professor McGonagall ordered, though nearly everybody was already ready. Harry could hear a faint laugh coming from some of the Death Eaters, which only made his hand stay steady as he raised it towards the enchanted ceiling. 

Immediately, Harry saw the effects of what Professor McGonagall was getting them to do. And they were magnificent. 

Four bright beacons of color were coming out of the bunch of wands, shooting straight up towards the ceiling of the Great Hall. A different color sprung from each wand, and as Harry looked around, it was obvious that they were for whichever house the wand bearers represented. The reds, yellows, and blues were overwhelming, and as far as Harry could see, there were only two small pricks of green light. He knew where they came from, and for some amazing reason, he was comforted by their presence. 

His heart felt as if it were jumping wildly in his chest as he was bathed in the multi-colored light. And...for some reason...he felt happy. Not just happy -- elated. He felt as if everything good from him was going through his wand and into that rainbow of light. Everything brave, courageous, and pure. His innocence, as well as his strength. And somehow, he knew that he was contributing to that light. 

The Death Eaters were perfectly silent around them. Or, if they were making any noise, the students and staff of Hogwarts were completely unaware. Every atom inside of them was fixated upon the shower of light above their heads as they stood stiff, their wands raised over their heads. 

"_YOU WILL BE GONE_."

When the booming voice of Albus Dumbledore cut through the air, Harry finally found his new resilience shattering. His arm fell from its place above his head as if it were lead and he suddenly felt very heavy. He closed his eyes, feeling his mind starting to spin around and around. 

When he finally opened his eyes, he saw that the Great Hall was still once again. The people around him looked as if they had just woken up from the same sort of experience he had just had and were blinking around while murmuring quietly. 

Harry turned his head, feeling his scar twinge as soon as he moved his head. He ignored the pain and let his eyes graze the floor of the Great Hall. Students littered the floor, many of them groaning their injuries, and still more of them looking terribly still. The nausea rose in Harry's stomach again as he began to process the events of this morning. 

_This morning_...he repeated dully to himself. _They were still in their first class... _

He lowered his head, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to stop the now searing pain in his forehead. Obviously Voldemort could now not contain his emotions. Harry's sickness only increased as he realized that the sharp pain came from the Dark Lord's feeling of triumph. 

He heard footsteps suddenly, coming down towards the High Table. He raised his eyes the slightest bit, the green spheres widening with shock as he let out a small "Oh!" 

Professor Dumbledore stood before him, looking older and more furious than Harry had ever seen him before. And still, over his clear anger, he seemed pained. Harry didn't have to wonder why. 

The old wizard surveyed the scene before him, the anger slowly melting away completely. It was replaced by the Headmaster's usual coolness, though with a hint of the great melancholy Harry had seen there last year after the Battle in the Department of Mysteries. Professor Dumbledore slowly let his gaze travel back towards the group huddled on the steps leading to the High Table, the most minuscule of smiles appearing on his face. 

"Come, children," The Headmaster said, his voice sounding tired and not half as powerful as it had when banishing the Death Eaters only a few moments before. 

Movement around him increased as people hopped slowly off of the stone steps. Through the crowd Harry caught sight of Hermione, again clutching her arm in the place it had been cut. Ron had his arm around her, his face looking dirty and somewhat scraped. Behind them were Neville and Ginny, both of whom were hanging onto Parvati Patil. The pretty dark haired girl looked as if she had hurt her ankle. Through the rest of the small throng of students, Harry caught sight of Malfoy. He had a look on his face that made him seem like he had swallowed something incredibly horrible, but he was not about to spit it out. Harry stared at him for a few moments longer, noting the way he clutched at the front of his robes with his right arm. 

Malfoy caught his eye, the strange expression quickly fading from his face. It was replaced by something neutral and almost bewilderingly calm for the pale boy. He let his gaze fall away again as Snape put a hand on his shoulder, gently leading him towards the Headmaster. 

Turning to follow his friends, Harry let his shoulders sag. Finally, the stolid fortress that was Hogwarts had been broken into. It only showed, he supposed, that they could never be ahead. Voldemort would always bring destruction for them, each time seeming worse than the last. 

If they had lost Hogwarts, then they would be close to losing hope. 


End file.
